


Footnotes

by Tallulah_Rasa



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:24:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallulah_Rasa/pseuds/Tallulah_Rasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As it turned out, some other guys saved the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Footnotes

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2003, lost in the back of a drawer, and eventually unearthed, updated a bit, and posted in 2005.
> 
> This is an AU, and somewhat gritty, future for SG-1, and contains adult themes and language. At the time I wrote this, I'd only seen through S.4, so the characters (and their relationships) reflect that era's events and tensions. As the story begins, Jack's a colonel, Sam's a major, and the Goa'uld and the Replicators are still menacing the universe. Daniel's ascended and descended, but only once, and Teal'c is still fighting for his people. As a nod to canon, Mini-Jack, like the truth, is out there somewhere, and Walter-the-Chevron guy is Sgt. Harriman.

There wasn't an event, a tragedy, one big defining moment everyone could point to -- oh, _that's_ when SG-1 fell apart. There were a lot of events, a lot of tragedies, too many life-and-death moments. Maybe that's why everyone expected the end, but no one saw it coming.

Teal'c was always on loan from his real life; everyone knew that. Everyone knew he'd eventually leave. Still, as time went on he seemed essentially unchanged, and it was hard to imagine him _ever_ changing, ever being anything other than calm, solid, _there_.

Daniel, on the other hand, was always gone, always a goner. The general expectation -- and the betting -- was that he'd eventually snap under the weight of all his experiences, but he just grew quieter and more intense, a concentrated version of himself, in a genus all his own.

Jack and Sam, of course, got edgier and edgier, what with constantly having to save the world _and_ deal with the military bureaucracy. They eyed each other a lot, and never fought about anything. No one expected _them_ to crack, so no one noticed when Sam marched into Jack's office and shut the door one Friday afternoon, or when they finally went off for a weekend of frenzied it's-about-time screwing that, much to their surprise, left neither of them feeling better. By then, though, the ending had already been written, and even a quantum mirror couldn't have changed it.

* * *

The next Monday, Sam and Jack arrived separately at CheyenneMountain, confused, shaken, and somewhat depressed.

Jack showed up at the Mountain just after dawn. Almost immediately, General Hammond was summoned to Washington for a meeting with the President and the Joint Chiefs, leaving Jack in charge of the SGC. Jack didn't crack a single joke about taking over, repainting the office, or changing the menu in the commissary. General Hammond remembered that, later.

Sam got to work late, after a few aborted attempts to call in sick. Breaking the regs had set off a chemical reaction in Sam, dissolving her confidence in her own judgment. By the time she finally got to her lab, she knew she'd have to leave not only SG-1, but also the SGC. She filled out the required paperwork, got the necessary approvals, and packed up her office with her usual efficiency. She was gone by noon.

Jack, who'd been party to far too many deaths by that point, didn't have it in him to face the final moments of SG-1. Right after he signed off on Sam's forms, he walked out of the SGC for the last time. No one knew anything was up until Sgt. Harriman went to see why Colonel O'Neill was late for SG-7's 1400 briefing, and found the resignation letter on Jack's desk.

There was nothing a naquada generator could fix, nothing an Asgard ship could do.

General George Hammond was immediately called back to the SGC.

At 1530, Teal'c returned from an off-world meeting with Bra'tac and the other Jaffa elite. He listened to Sgt. Harriman's somewhat panicked description of the day's events, nodded, packed up, and went back to Chulak. Whether this was because his warrior code had been offended, or because he was broken-hearted, no one knew.

Through all of this, Daniel was translating something -- admittedly, something important -- in his office. It wasn't clear to anyone whether he'd noticed what was going on. This would have been considered odd in anyone else, but no one outside of SG-1 was sure what "normal" meant in relation to an ascended, descended, tragically-orphaned, tragically-widowed, often-dead genius. Daniel finished his translation just after Teal'c's departure. After informing the remaining senior staff of its saving-the-world ramifications, and being told of the current status of his team, he announced he was cashing in all his accrued vacation time -- six months -- and would be leaving immediately.

* * *

General Hammond, with the hastily-promoted Paul Davis as his second, arrived at Cheyenne Mountain a few hours later. He was greeted by an SF who informed him that SG-5 was due back at any moment, and that at some point during the day SG-1's locker room -- the entire thing, clothes, lockers, benches, _everything_ \-- had been obliterated by three  zat blasts fired in close succession at point-blank range.

General Hammond debriefed SG-5, and then wrote off the locker room as a routine maintenance problem.

Without being told to, Sgt. Walter Harriman lost the weapons sign-out sheet on his way from the armory to the General's office.

The official weapons inventory for the day was one zat'nikatel short. General Hammond listed it as, "lost in battle, and unlikely to be recovered".

* * *

After the fact, everyone said that SG-1 had been falling apart for a while; that a documentary of their last years would have looked a lot like, "Let It Be." When Paul Davis lingered in the SGC commissary, he overheard people talking about Sam as if she were Yoko. He finally approached a table of SFs one morning, leaned over a pile of stale doughnuts and cold coffee cups, and said, "After working at the SGC for any length of time at all, after seeing all that you've seen, how can you gentlemen believe an explanation so simplistic, so black-and-white, could account for _anything_?"

One of the SFs had looked up at him and said, "Oh. Huh. You mean _Oma's_ Yoko?"

On the way back to his office, Paul wondered if maybe he did.

* * *

Daniel spent his six months in Egypt. He sometimes sent postcards -- " _Pyramids at_ _Sunrise_ _"_ and " _The Historic_ _Nile_ _"_ \-- to Teal'c. These were dutifully sent through the wormhole by Sgt. Harriman, who was never sure what happened to them on the other side.

No one had any idea what Teal'c was doing. Rumor had it the freed Jaffa had formed factions: traditionalists on one side, libertarians on the other. The fighting was said to be heated, though it did not -- so far -- involve actual weapons. It was difficult for anyone to imagine Teal'c with the patience for politics; after saving the world, it had to be a let-down to merely help run one. But what choice did Teal'c have? As far as anyone knew, Jaffa warriors had no retirement plan.

Jack went to Minnesota and fished. He made one phone call a week, to Cassie Fraiser, until she joined the SGC and went off world. He let a machine answer his calls. There weren't many.

Sam went back to her first love, physics, and took a research position near her brother's family. She kept in touch with Cassie, but never tried to get in touch with the remnants of SG-1. She was less decisive than she'd once been, less sure of things. Her staff found her picky, temperamental, and prone to outbursts. The oddest things -- a piece of gold jewelry, someone's tattoo, a rock -- would set her off. One day a lab tech wandered by with a Homer Simpson mug full of expensive special-blend dark roast, and Sam locked herself in the bathroom and cried for an hour. The tech quit, because he didn't like working for a wacko. "Hormones," the other techs said knowingly, and, "I heard she used to be brilliant."

* * *

Daniel came back to the SGC after his vacation. He had a nice tan. He only saved the world twice after that, once because of a truly brilliant translation, a masterful diplomatic effort, and a stubborn willingness to die in order to get the job done, and once entirely by accident. Mostly, he stuck to research and translations, with the odd diplomatic trip to other worlds or other countries. Aliens loved him. In the confines of Cheyenne Mountain, he made a great many people nervous, though very few people actually ever spoke to him. He didn't stick around for long. When he left, only General Hammond, Paul Davis, Nyan, Bill Lee, and the guy who delivered his mail noticed he was gone.

* * *

Five years, three weeks and two days after SG-1 disbanded, the Replicators and the Goa'uld were both taken out in one amazing, decisive battle that left small metal bits scattered across much of the Western Hemisphere, and a host of witnesses to the fact that something large, blazing, and obviously important had been going on in Earth's atmosphere. The Stargate program went public; the currently active teams became heroes and the objects of a world-wide media frenzy. A major movie was made about the big battle, and not a few members of SG teams 2-16 showed up at the premiere with models, rock celebrities, and movie stars.

Someone from the press finally asked why SG team designations began with "2". Someone from the Air Force, taken off guard, admitted that the number "1" had been retired when the original SG team, SG-1 -- the old guys -- had called it quits.

Of course, people started asking what it had been like, back in the bad old days when the SGC was new, and not up to the job of keeping Earth safe. People wanted to know about the first, ineffectual, contact with the Nox and the Asgard, and about all the unsuccessful efforts to rein in the Goa'uld and the Replicators. There was some talk of giving SG-1 a minute in the next documentary, and maybe a collective pat on the head for good effort. And so six years, fifteen weeks and a day after SG-1 disbanded, Col. Paul Davis was sent to tell them that it was about to be Old-Timers Day at the SGC, and they were invited.

* * *

Armed with plans and schedules and briefing papers and legal documents, Paul showed up first at Jack's bare wooden door. It was so early in the morning that even the birds were still sleeping, but Jack opened the door before Paul knocked. He took one look at Paul, and slammed the door in his face. Paul tried three more times, and then left the information in a nylon zip bag on Jack's front porch. He also left a case of pretty decent beer, because he thought General Hammond might make him come back, and it didn't take a genius to figure out who was responsible for the SGC's missing zat. Paul wouldn't have been surprised to find that Jack was also stockpiling a few staff weapons, a bazooka, and a small tactical nuke. He left in a hurry.

* * *

Paul went to see Sam next. She heard him out politely, but then, she was still in the Air Force.

"I don't think..." she said when he'd run out of things to say. She toyed with one of the calipers lined up neatly at her work station, and then she looked directly at Paul for the first time. "Daniel said something to me once," she said. "About me not knowing, not ever having..."

Paul waited expectantly, but Sam shook her head. "He wasn't himself," she said softly, almost to herself. "But still, I..."

"Major?"

"I thought it didn't matter," Sam continued. "Because I had...well, the Stargate. The work. I thought it meant something. I thought it meant _everything_."

"I..." Paul started, but he couldn't think of a follow-up. "Well, then, isn't that why you should participate in this?" he started again. "To let the world know about SG-1, and what you all did, and...?"

Sam squinted, as though she couldn't quite see him. "SG-1 wasn't what I did," she said. "It was who I was."

"Exactly," Paul said. "So--"

"And that seemed..." Sam looked down at a spectrometer, and then looked up. "Everything I thought was important turned out to be...not as important as I thought it was. At least, in the way I thought it was. But the other thing I thought was important, that wasn't the answer, either. Or not the right answer. It's..."

"Complicated?" Paul suggested gently.

"No, that's not it at all," Sam said, shaking her head. "Some of it was very simple. And what we had to do -- or at least, that we had to do it -- _that_ was obvious. There wasn't a choice."

"That, I understand," Paul said, thinking about a submarine full of replicators.

"But if something's that simple, that black-and-white, it ought to be important," Sam said. "I thought my life was important. That made up for all the things I didn't have. For the things I didn't get to know."

"What you did -- it _was_ important," Paul said.

Sam said nothing.

"You think it didn't matter?" Paul asked, a little shocked.

"There's matter, and there's mattering," Sam said with a little smile. "Sorry. Physics humor."

"Major...?"

"It's like writing a message, and then finding out you accidentally used invisible ink," Sam said. "Even Daniel couldn't translate _that_."

Paul stood for a minute, and then he picked up his hat. "Maybe he could," he finally said. "Maybe...maybe you should come to the briefing, and see him, and ask him."

Sam looked up from the wire cutter she was toying with. "He's coming?"

"I...uh...well, I haven't actually asked him yet," Paul admitted. "But I know where he is. Even if you decide not to...you could get in touch with him."

"I know," Sam said, fiddling with the wire cutter again. "I know where he is, too. But I don't want to ask him anything, now." She looked up.

"Afraid he'll have an answer?" Paul asked. "Or afraid he won't?"

"Exactly," Sam said.

And Paul had nothing to say to that, so he left. When he called the SGC that evening, General Hammond asked, "Did you see Major Carter?"

_I'm not sure_ , Paul wanted to say, but that would have taken too much explanation. "I went to her lab," he said instead. "I left the information for her."

* * *

Next, Paul went to Chulak to talk to, in his opinion, the only really sane member of SG-1. He ran through the information, and Teal'c said, "I see," several times. Paul thought that he did.

"Well...?" Paul finally asked.

"Perhaps events and results matter more than names," Teal'c said.

"Uh, maybe," Paul said, wondering how much of his own history Teal'c was hoping to forget. "But -- what SG-1 did, surely that should be remembered?"

"Our motivation was not recognition," Teal'c said.

"No, of course not," Paul said. He had very little idea of how the Jaffa looked at history or heroes, he realized. He really should have gone to see Daniel first. "Major Carter feels her efforts were all for nothing," he finally said.

Teal'c was silent for a moment. "I believe many of the Tau'ri question the value of their lives, particularly after the age of forty. I have heard this called a 'mid-life crisis'."

"Bringing SG-1's role to the public might help your teammates understand their true value," Paul said. "And the value of what they did."

"That may indeed be helpful for Major Carter," Teal'c conceded. "I do not believe it would serve the same purpose for O'Neill."

"And Dr. Jackson...?"

"Daniel Jackson has always questioned the value of his life," Teal'c said. "I do not believe anything will ever change that."

Paul had an odd flash of Teal'c discussing human nature with Dr. Phil, but shook it off. "And what about you, Teal'c?"

"I was forty a very long time ago," Teal'c said.

"And that means...?" Another unsatisfactory conversation with General Hammond was in his future, Paul thought.

"I have learned that after all one's efforts, more effort is needed," Teal'c said. "And that it is difficult to truly assess one's own life."

Paul thought Teal'c might have sighed then, had Teal'c been human.

"Despite obtaining all the relevant facts and the most accurate data," Teal'c went on, "and despite undertaking a series of careful calculations, Major Carter has, at times, been unable to see the correct solution to the problem she contemplates."

"So...?"

"So," Teal'c said.

"Right," Paul said stifling his own very human impulse to sigh, or scream, or find a very large bottle of Scotch and a desk on which to write his resignation letter. "And the press briefing?"

Teal'c turned his solemn gaze fully on Paul. "What did the others say to your request?"

"Colonel O'Neill refused to speak to me," Paul admitted. "Major Carter said something about invisible ink. I haven't seen Dr. Jackson yet."

Teal'c said nothing.

"This is a mess," Paul said, half to himself.

"Indeed," Teal'c observed.

"So, will you--"

"I will think about it," Teal'c said, the same way General Hammond said, "Dismissed", and that was that.

* * *

Paul's last stop was at the outskirts of a tiny Alaskan town that reminded him of "Northern Exposure". There, on native land, someone had found an ancient cultural site that had turned out to be an Ancient cultural site. Daniel had agreed to check it out a few months after his post-vacation stint at the SGC. He'd spent a week poking around, and another week writing his report, and then he said he was staying. The SGC periodically sent him alien texts, which he translated and sent back. He didn't have a phone, but he still sent occasional picture postcards -- _"Greetings from the Talkeetna Moose Dropping Festival"_ \-- to Teal'c, Nyan and Cassie.

Daniel opened his door to Paul with a ghost of a smile. He was grayer and scruffier, but other than that he seemed about as normal as anybody else who'd saved the world a few times, died a few times, and lost everything a few times.

Paul stepped over a few piles of books, settled himself into a worn armchair covered with a quilt that could have been either a valuable antique or a thrift-shop reject, and explained what was going to happen.

Daniel listened. Then he got up, padded across the lovely, stained, Oriental rug covering the rough-hewn floor of his little cabin, and stood in front of the overflowing bookcase. After a minute he said, "Ummm," and then, seemingly attracted by something outside, gravitated to the window. He stood there, staring, for some time. "I think," he finally said, "that this is one of the oddest things that's ever happened to me."

Paul doubted it, but said nothing.

Daniel glanced at Paul for a moment. "I just never pictured SG-1 as a...a..." He rubbed his hands on his pants, which Paul thought had seen better days. "An after-thought," he finished.

"I'm sorry," Paul said.

"It's just...I mean..."

"I think I understand," Paul said. "SG-1 _did_ save the world. And you're the man who opened the  Stargate."

"That could probably get me sued," Daniel said. Paul said nothing about the three cases already filed against the SGC.

"This would give you a chance to tell...well, the truth," Paul said, because General Hammond had ordered him to give it his best shot. Daniel's expression could have meant any of ten or eleven things, so he went on. "About what the SGC was, in the beginning. About the early missions. About Jack O'Neill's leadership, about Samantha Carter's scientific genius, about Teal'c's sacrifices. They deserve that. Even if you don't care about your own accomplishments, I think you'll agree that _their_ accomplishments should be honored. That _history_ should be honored. And I think you believe, in general, that the truth is important, and that we should at least make an effort to see that it's told."

"Maybe," Daniel said. He had drifted away from the window, managing by some internal radar -- or maybe through some left-over Ancient razzle-dazzle -- to avoid tripping over the books and papers stacked everywhere. Paul sighed in relief when Daniel finally settled into an intricately carved rocking chair, after first picking up a coffee cup that had obviously been there for some time. The coffee still in the mug had a greenish tinge.

"You four are the only ones who can tell this particular truth," Paul said, leaning forward. It wasn't clear if Daniel was even listening.

Daniel absently took a sip from the cup. Paul winced. "And...?" Daniel asked.

"And I'm not having a lot of success with your teammates," Paul confided, though he didn't expect it to do any good. Daniel seemed even more alien than Teal'c. "I, uh, couldn't get O'Neill to listen to me at all."

"And you think he'll listen to _me_?" Daniel made a face. "Wait, what about...?"

"Colonel O'Neill doesn't..."

"Huh." Daniel put down his cup and finally turned his attention to Paul. "That's...uh..."

"Yeah."

"Huh."

"Would you be willing to talk to him?" Paul asked "To try?"

Daniel just looked at him, but in that moment Paul saw that Daniel was still human, after all.

"Well, thank you anyway, Dr. Jackson," Paul said as he stood up. He was turning toward the door, rehearsing what he was going to tell General Hammond, when he realized Daniel was speaking.

"What the hell," Daniel said. "I haven't risked my life for a lost cause in a while."

* * *

It was a long trip from Mt. Nowhere, Alaska to St. Nowhere, Minnesota. By the time Daniel made it to the town nearest Jack's cabin, he was over-tired, irritable, and distinctly smelly. He drove straight to Jack's place.

He pounded on the door for a while, and then began singing, loudly, a medley of hits by the BeeGees. Jack flung the door open.

"Let me in," Daniel said, barging past him. "I've had to pee for an hour."

A few minutes later they were facing off in Jack's living room.

"Are you going to tell me you just happened to be in the neighborhood?"

"No," Daniel said. "Do you have anything to drink here?"

"No," Jack said. "Did Davis send you?"

"No," Daniel said. "He merely pointed out that I hadn't done anything dangerous, foolhardy, or ill-advised in a while, and it occurred to me that I should get in some practice." He wandered around the room, peering at the shelves and rifling through the papers on the desk. "Are you _sure_ there's nothing to drink here? There's a lake out back, you must have water."

"All out."

"Huh," Daniel said. He sank into the lone armchair, kicked off his shoes, and put his feet on the coffee table.

"Isn't it clear to you that I don't want you here?"

"Perfectly," Daniel said. "I'm a linguist, you know. Trained to communicate, to understand."

"Go away," Jack said.

"There's a difference," Daniel said, "between understanding and caring. I'd settle for the piss you call beer, if you don't have anything else,"

"I've got a gun," Jack said.

"I'm sure you do," Daniel said. "If you also have a ribbon device, a zat, a Goa'uld symbiote, and something radioactive on hand, then maybe you'll have my attention. Maybe."

"Oh, hell," Jack said. He stomped out of the room. Daniel wondered if he was actually going to come back with a zat and a symbiote. The thought was oddly comforting. He dozed off.

When he woke up, Jack was standing there, holding a beer. "You're still here," he said.

"Well, things have been going so well," Daniel said. "Is that for me?" He grabbed it before Jack could answer.

"Drink it and go," Jack said, but he sat down on the couch.

"Fine," Daniel said, taking a sip.

"Drink fast," Jack said.

"Why? I'm not leaving when I'm done."

"You just said you would!"

"I lied."

Jack flopped back on the worn cushions. "Fine way for an almost-hero to act."

Daniel burped. "Our names could go public," he said.

"What?"

"You should get an unlisted number. If you have a phone."

" _That's_ what you came here to tell me?"

Daniel burped again. "No. I'm just saying. Actually, I didn't come here to tell you anything."

"Right."

"I also didn't come here to ask you anything," Daniel said. "You got anything to eat? Chips? Brownies? A steak?"

Jack sat forward. "Daniel, you're so full of crap -- of _course_ you're here to ask questions. You live to ask questions."

Daniel got up, scratched his stomach, yawned. "Well, yeah. But not to ask _you_ questions. Don't get up, I'll make myself something."

Jack followed him into the kitchen. Daniel rooted through cabinets and drawers, plucked a piece of bread from a loaf on the counter, and slathered it with peanut butter and jelly.

"You're making a mess," Jack said, as a glob of jelly hit the floor.

"Maybe it's my turn," Daniel said, squishing a second piece of bread on top of the first. Some peanut butter squirted out onto the table.

"I swear, Daniel, if you're here to get pissy with me about--"

"Things have been...I don't know, sort of _normal,_ for a while," Daniel said, finally looking up from his sandwich. "It was weird. I got so used to things being weird that it was weird to be normal, and not the good kind of weird. And don't say, 'there's a good kind of  weird'?, because you know exactly what I mean. And that's...that's why I'm here, maybe." He looked down again, frowning at the sandwich, as though he couldn't quite remember why it was there, or what he was supposed to do about it. He stared at it for a moment, and then tore off a piece and shoved it in his mouth.

Jack silently poured a glass of milk and handed it to him. Daniel drained half of it and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "When Paul Davis came by and asked if I would talk to you, I thought, 'that would be weird'. But it was the right kind of weird. Or, at least, the kind I'm used to." He tore off another hunk of sandwich, spraying jelly across the table, and popped it into his mouth.

"Did you forget how to eat like a human being?"

Daniel swallowed noisily. "I've forgotten quite a lot about being a human being. But right now my plan is to get so disgusting you'll let me use your shower."

"You've succeeded," Jack said.

"Life is just too damned easy," Daniel said, wiping his hands on his pants. "Do you have a towel I can use?"

"If I said no, would you leave?"

Daniel laughed. "Can you imagine if the reporters saw _this_? Kind of shoots the whole heroic image the government's trying to get going for us." He looked Jack up and down. "Of course, then they could get  Pauly Shore to play you in the movie. And Sam could be--"

"This little get-together has totally lost its charm, not that it ever had any." Jack said in the precise, clipped voice he only used when he was truly furious. "Get your ass out of my house."

Daniel took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes. "Jack," he said softly, "we went through a wormhole. We dematerialized and materialized again. We went across the galaxy. We saw real human beings, people we knew, people I _loved_ , taken over by genetically evil, parasitic, flying snakes. We fought, we bled. We got tortured. We died. It didn't take. You were going to destroy Abydos. You had a whole culture's knowledge downloaded into your brain. I was a...a glow-stick, with immense powers, and knowledge. _I_ ended up destroying  Abydos. You've got a 20-something-year-old clone of yourself running around somewhere. We've seen alternate universes, androids of ourselves, and a bunch of stuff I've probably forgotten. And in the end, some other guys saved the world, and everything we did turned out to be a footnote." He sank into a chair and looked up at Jack. "Do you really want me to pretend it's a big deal if I drip jelly on your table?"

"Damn it, Daniel--"

"Okay," Daniel said. He got up and went into the living room, gathered up his shoes, and headed for the door, barefoot.

"What are you _doing_?" Jack yelled, following him.

"I just got the translation done," Daniel said. "You've been saying, 'get out'." He leaned his head on the doorframe. "Listen, I just want you to know -- I'm not going to any of the press stuff. I don't think I can handle _that_ kind of weirdness. If you go, tell them...oh, tell them anything you want. But tell General Hammond I'm sorry.  And Davis. He's a nice guy."

"I wasn't really saying..." Jack said. He pounded the wall a few times, but not hard. "It's not exactly 'get out'. I can see where it sounded like that, but that's...it's more complicated than that."

"Oh," Daniel said. "I'm out of practice. I don't use this language much anymore." He looked blearily at Jack and waved his shoes. "Were you saying, 'I'll loan you a towel and let you sleep on my couch tonight, because even though you're insane, I know how you got that way, and I'm pretty strange myself'?"

"Yeah," Jack said. "That's...that's pretty close."

Daniel dropped his shoes and shambled back toward the couch. "Well, that was my second guess."

"I don't want to talk about it," Jack said. "Any of it."

"Thank God," Daniel said. "Do you have a TV?"

"Yeah," Jack said. "But it only gets two channels. You really do stink, you know. You smell like you've been living in your car for a week."

"Five days," Daniel said. "I only get two channels, too. Most of the time I watch one of the other ones, though. The static is..."

"Very soothing," Jack said. "I've noticed. The towels are under the sink."

"I...uh...don't sleep all that well," Daniel said. "You should know that. Apparently my screaming is rather disturbing. Or so I've been told. In the past. I don't have people around to notice, anymore."

"I don't sleep," Jack said.

"That must leave you a lot of free time," Daniel said. "For, uh...what do you do here, anyway?"

"Scream all you want," Jack said, as if Daniel hadn't spoken. "Quiet bothers me more than noise."

"Huh," Daniel said. "Me, too. Because quiet is..."

"Yeah," Jack said. "When it's quiet, you know everybody's dead. Use the bathmat, will you? I hate when the bathroom floor gets all wet."

"The towels are under the sink?" Daniel asked. "Don't they get grungy under there?"

"Yeah," Jack said. "But you got jelly all over my kitchen. You deserve grungy."

"Okay," Daniel said, shuffling off. "I saved your life a few times," he called over his shoulder. "Can I borrow a pair of sweats?"

"No," Jack said.

"Don't bother getting them," Daniel said. "I'll help myself."

* * *

Daniel emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, still scruffy but smelling and looking considerably cleaner. He had on a pair of Jack's sweats, and a tee shirt that had once been his but had migrated to Jack's place during one of Daniel's periodic deaths.

"You got a washing machine?" he asked Jack, indicating the bundle of grubby clothes he'd been wearing before his shower.

"You should just throw those out," Jack said.

Daniel frowned. "I would, but I think they're the only clothes I have." He settled himself at the far end of the couch, depositing his dirty laundry on the coffee table.

Jack looked over from his end of the couch, where he was fiddling with the remote. "Don't they mind at...at your office?"

"My office is in my house, so no."

"Don't people who come to your house mind?"

"My house is in Alaska," Daniel said. "Very few people drop by." He gestured to the empty landscape outside the window. "This is a booming metropolis compared to where I live."

" _Alaska_? That's pretty far from the Gate. Aren't you bored?"

Daniel shifted in his seat. "On my good days."

"Huh."

"Mostly it's fine. The SGC sends me stuff. I translate it. And there's an Ancient site about five minutes from my house. I work there, too."

Jack raised his eyebrows.

"It's no big deal. No weapons, no meaning of life stuff. Even the Ancients had shopping lists and garbage. I like digging through it, anyway. It's kind of a hobby."

"So -- not so much need for a huge wardrobe, then."

"Not so much. But I have a few sweaters. It's cold in Alaska."

"I've heard that." Jack fiddled with the remote some more. "So...you're in touch with the SGC."

"Some, yeah. And I hear from a few people. Nyan. Cassie. Ferretti sends me Christmas cards. Bill Lee emails me. He sends me bad jokes -- you know, how many archeologists does it take to uncover a light bulb. He has a program that lets him write them out them in Ancient."

Jack looked at him. "I never thought of Alaska as having internet access."

"The SGC set me up," Daniel said, playing with a hole in his tee shirt. "As kind of a bonus, because I died so many times. If I'd died twice more, they would've thrown in a set of steak knives."

"Ahh," Jack said. "Well, there now, you see? It was all worth it. You got something out of your time with the SGC, after all."

"A little too much," Daniel said. "But you have to look on the bright side."

"And what's that?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Daniel said. "But I might figure it out, some day."

Jack stared at him for a few minutes. "Indeed," he finally said. "In-fucking-deed." He turned on the TV, and sat back as the static filled the room. "It mattered, you know," he said, keeping his eyes on the TV. "What we did. Even if it didn't end up mattering. It mattered that we tried."

It was Daniel's turn to stare. "That's, uh, touching. But I have to ask..."

Jack glared at him.

"Do you have a couple of blankets, and maybe a pair of socks? It's freezing in here."

"No," Jack said.

* * *

A few days later, General George Hammond closed his office door, turned off his security camera, took two letters out of a locked drawer, and read one aloud to Colonel Paul Davis.

_Dear General Hammond_ , it began.

_Daniel's here. We haven't killed each other yet, though that's still a possibility. Daniel thinks meeting the press is a bad idea, and since he's never been wrong before, I have to go with his call. I guess I should have asked him before I made some of the other decisions in my life. But if I'd been in the right frame of mind to do that, I wouldn't have made the decisions._

_For me, things probably ended up as they were supposed to, or they had to. I've accepted that, and though I have regrets, they're for the trouble I caused you, my team, and the SGC. I take full responsibility, though I'm told a shrink would laugh at the idea of me being a responsible, normal person. Of course, Daniel's the one who told me, and he's a total fruitcake. It probably should worry me that we understand each other, but in the greater scheme of things that's pretty small potatoes. Like us, it turns out._

_I know what we did, and why, and I still believe it was worth it. It doesn't matter if the rest of the world knows, though I hope you get the recognition you deserve. We wouldn't have been able to do squat without you. If you can, please make sure Janet gets credit for everything she did. (And Siler. And Walter. Those guys kept the whole place going.) For everything else -- I can only give you my deepest thanks, and all my respect, and hope you understand._

_Sincerely,_

_Jack O'Neill_

_P.S._ _Davis_ _is a good guy. Daniel wanted me to say that, but it's true. It's not his fault that we're not playing ball._

_P.P.S._ _It's probably all for the best if Daniel and I don't meet the press, if you know what I mean._ _I don't think we'd project the right image. Especially Daniel. Carter will do fine, though, if you can get her to go. She probably thinks one mistake means she was wrong about everything, so someone may have to remind her that we really did get it right a few times. Teal'c would be a good man -- or __Jaffa_ _\-- for the job_

"Do you think he means it?" Paul asked the General when he finished reading. "About not participating?"

"He means it," Hammond said.

"What's the other letter?"

"Major Carter's regrets," Hammond said. "And her resignation."

"So..."

"I've called her here," Hammond said. "And Teal'c. You're going to talk to them, and get them to go see Jack."

" _I'll_ talk to them?"

"You got Dr. Jackson's cooperation," Hammond pointed out. "Which was an impressive achievement, considering."

"Considering what, Sir?"

"Well, you know, he never did return that zat."

"Ah, no," Paul said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I didn't know that."

* * *

Daniel stared out the window at the heavy snow. "Everywhere I go, it snows," he said.

"Alaska. Minnesota. Who'd a thought, huh?" Jack said.

"The roads are probably blocked," Daniel said."And I left my boots at home. Can I stay a couple of days?"

"No," Jack said.

"Thanks," Daniel said. "What do you suppose is going to happen?"

"If I know Hammond, Teal'c and Sam will probably show up here eventually," Jack said. "After that, I don't know."

"I'm not afraid of anything anymore," Daniel said. "Sometimes I think that worries me more than anything else. Of course, that might have something to do with..."

"...the fact that you're not really all that smart?" Jack suggested.

Daniel frowned. "Well, I think it probably has more to do with the fact that I've been...uh...dead a few times. Though it might be because I have a zat."

"Right," Jack said.

"It's in my car," Daniel added.

"Damn," Jack said.

"Let's go walk in the snow," Daniel said.

"No. Why?"

"Because," Daniel said. "Because it's meaningless. It won't save anybody, or anything. It won't teach us anything. And no one will shoot at us."

"I don't know about that," Jack said. "My neighbors aren't crazy about me."

"Neither am I," Daniel said. "So let's go walk in the snow. We'll get cold, and then we can come in and get warm. It'll be totally meaningless and forgettable."

"Oh," Jack said. "Well, when you put it like that..." He got up and put on his coat.

Daniel shrugged into his. "Do you have an extra pair of boots?"

"No," Jack said.

"Gloves?"

"No."

"Can we make a pot of coffee when we get back?"

"No," Jack said.

"Good," Daniel said, opening the door and carefully stepping so as to make the deepest possible footprints in the still-falling snow.

 

End

 

**Epilogue** (because Mr. Rasa read this and complained about the lack of closure, and the sadness, and I told him it was about a transition, not an ending, and he said, well, yeah, but it's so _sad_ ) **:**

Sam and Teal'c went to see Jack, and were happy to find Daniel at home on (practically soldered to) Jack's couch. They all talked. They all -- even Teal'c \-- drank a great deal. Sam finally realized she and Teal'c were meant for each other. ("About time," said Jack, Daniel and Teal'c.) Daniel shaved, was dragged to a store by Sam, and bought some decent clothes. They all talked some more. A short time later, they all went to a press briefing at the SGC, and _totally_ kicked butt. ("About time," said Hammond.) The central theory of wormhole physics was renamed in honor of Sam, who continued making astounding discoveries and expanding the boundaries of physics. The Joint Earth Center for the Research and Study of  Offworld Cultures and Societies was renamed for Daniel, who continued making astounding discoveries and expanding the definition of "boundaries". Cheyenne Mountain was renamed for Jack, who took up training elite SGC teams, but continued fishing. The fabulously popular Stargate video game was revamped and renamed "Teal'c's World", and kids on five Earth continents started saying, "Indeed." Teal'c was asked to help develop the Constitution of the Free  Jaffa  . Daniel was asked to rewrite Budge, and was remarkably polite about it. Sam and Teal'c were very happy together. Daniel fell in love, and things went well. Jack fell in love, and things went well. (Read that any way you like.) And they all lived happily ever after, though every few years Daniel insisted that SG-1 -- and associated friends, significant others, children, and extended-family members -- meet at Talkeetna, Alaska,  to attend the Moose Dropping Festival. As he was largely normal otherwise, and as the Festival was both less crowded and less expensive than Disneyland , everyone went along with it.

The End

One more thing: There really is a Talkeetna Moose Dropping Festival (<http://www.talkeetnachamber.org/event-moosedropping.html>). It includes a raffle, the Moose Drop Dropping, in which "...shellacked and numbered moose poop is hauled up in the air in a net and then dropped on a bullseye," with the winning raffle numbers corresponding to numbers on the moose poop. I can't tell you how much I want to see that. 

 


End file.
